


The Women Beloved To Oliver Queen

by gnimaerd



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnimaerd/pseuds/gnimaerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Oh no,” Laurel decides, out loud, when Felicity explains where Thea is. “Oh, hell motherfracking no.”</i>
</p><p>In which Laurel takes responsibility for the other women in Oliver’s life, and Nyssa punches Malcolm Merlyn in the face. Episode tag for 3x20.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Women Beloved To Oliver Queen

So, in the absence of any better idea as to what to do with her in the wake of Felicity’s announcement that Oliver has defected to the League of Assassins, Laurel takes Felicity to a bar, and gets her drunk.

This is, admittedly, not a particularly responsible thing for an alcoholic to be doing. But it’s better than getting drunk herself, which is something she’s tempted to do literally every time something awful happens to Oliver and at this point Laurel’s wracking up a CV full of terrible life decisions influenced by the terrible life decisions of Oliver Queen. So Laurel isn’t about to feel especially guilty about having someone else drink on her behalf this time.

Felicity turns out to be a cuddly drunk, though. Cuddly and weepy – though the weeping might just still be about Oliver, rather than the fifth (sixth?) glass of wine she’s just had.

“Where are we going?” She’s clinging pitifully to Laurel’s shoulder, and Laurel has to put an arm round her to keep them both upright and moving along the pavement outside the bar.

“Home.” Laurel pets her, patiently. “To my place. We’re going to make you drink a couple of pints of water and then put you to bed where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Okay.” Felicity smears her running nose on her coat sleeve and Laurel hastily goes fishing through her pockets for a napkin.

Felicity has, however, lost all the fine motor skills necessary to clean herself up, so Laurel finds herself standing on a kerbside at two in the morning, spitting on a napkin and wiping off Felicity Smoak’s mascara, which has run halfway down her face.

“Shoulda worn waterproof,” Felicity mutters, “I normally wear waterproof. In case of bad things.”

“That’s smart,” Laurel agrees, before hailing them a cab.

***  
“Oh no,” Laurel decides, out loud, when Felicity explains where Thea is. “Oh, hell motherfracking no.”

“ _Fracking_ ,” Felicity giggles. “You get that from me. You never say fracking.”

“I’m calling Nyssa.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s too late at night for me to deal with Malcolm Merlyn’s bullshit alone.”

And that’s how Laurel comes to have a drunk, cuddly Felicity Smoak still weeping on her living room floor, next to a sad, tired, amnesiac Thea Queen, still befuddled, at three in the morning.

Nyssa makes everybody coffee. She can, occasionally, be useful like that.

(She has also quite recently punched Malcolm Merlyn in the face, which is probably why she’s humming cheerfully as she goes. This is the happiest Laurel has ever seen Nyssa. It’s unnerving, although, admittedly, the sound Malcolm made when he was punched was a deeply satisfying one).

“Espresso,” Nyssa hands Laurel a shot glass of the hot, dark liquid, “with milk and sugar,” a mug for Felicity, “and milk and drinking chocolate.” For Thea.

Thea accepts her mug and sips obediently, her gaze still darting around Laurel’s apartment as if she’s not quite sure where she is or how she got there. Laurel isn’t totally sure that a stimulant like caffeine is a great idea on top of her current mental state, but for the moment Thea isn’t crying, which makes her a less urgent case than Felicity.

Felicity only stops crying because drinking coffee requires her to be upright and concentrate on something other than her own misery.

“How did this become my life?” Laurel puts the empty shot glass down on her coffee table, “and can I have another of those?”

“Yes. And I have no idea.” Nyssa goes back into the kitchen, her expression gently amused.

Laurel sits down on the floor next to Felicity, puts a hand on her shoulder. Felicity manages a faint, watery smile over her mug. She’s sobered up a little, but there are deep, exhausted circles under her eyes – Laurel wonders how long it is since the other woman got any sleep.

“I’m sorry,” Felicity mutters, not for the first time, glancing away.

“About what?”

“Not bringing him back.”

“Felicity, that was so clearly not your fault.”

“I should have though. That’s why I went out there with him. I told him it was to bring Thea back but I was totally plotting a way to get him back too, right from the start.”

“This isn’t your fault, Felicity.”

“How come I feel so crappy, then?”

“I’m guessing that’s maybe all the wine,” Laurel puts an arm around her and lets Felicity lay her head on her shoulder.

“You make an excellent point. But also the wine makes everything so much more bearable.”

“I know, sweetie.” Laurel allows herself a small smile.

Felicity sighs, softly, her fingers twitching in her lap. “I’m in love with him. It’s horrible.”

“I figured.”

“You did?”

“You think I don’t know what being in love with Oliver Queen looks like?” Laurel quirks an eyebrow at her, amused, “please.”

Felicity’s smile is small and tremulous. “Do you mind? Is it weird?”

“It’s a lot less weird than him and Sara.”

“Oh,” Felicity blinks, “right, yeah.”

Laurel takes a breath, smoothing her hair back off her face, then decides that now is as good a time to ask as any. “How far did you and Oliver – actually get? I mean – ”

“We had .25 of a date, once,” Felicity glances down, “a while ago. Just before Sara… Then the restaurant we were in was bombed. And he went all ‘I can’t be the Arrow and be with you, I have to sit in the dark and brood on my manpain’.”

“Seriously?” Laurel grimaces, “next time he gets that sort of idea in his head come and tell me. I’ll hit him. Twice. Once for me and once for Sara.”

“And once for me,” Thea puts up a hand, abruptly, “no. I’ll hit him. For myself. You’re nice. He should date you. He always dates nice women. I’ve liked all his girlfriends. I think Ollie might just be a terrible boyfriend.”

Felicity giggles, then sobers. “I think Digg tried that once. Didn’t work. The hitting, I mean.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Laurel squeezes her tight for a moment. And then she notices the beard burn on Felicity’s neck, and thinks  _oh, sweetie_. “.25 of a date huh?”

“Mm?”

Laurel taps a finger to what looks distinctly like a bite mark near Felicity’s throat, and lofts an eyebrow at her.

Felicity blinks, then averts her gaze, a wash of colour turning her ears pink. “Just once,” she mutters, distractedly adjusting her glasses. “We – just once – ”

 _Oh, sweetie_. “Out there? In Nanda Parbat?”

Felicity nods. Her eyes have welled up again – god.

Thea is staring at them, perplexed. “What?”

“Nothing, Thea,” Laurel reaches out a hand to her, pulls her close. Thea comes to her side without resistance, settles against Laurel’s shoulder with a sigh, wrapping her fingers around the collar of Laurel’s blouse – like she used to do when she was much, much younger and Laurel and Oliver would babysit her. Laurel has a distinct memory of pulling eight year old Thea into her lap and quietly pretending to herself about what this might be like, someday, with Oliver – with their own kid.

(Suddenly Laurel feels incredibly old).  

Felicity is still listing against her other shoulder, and even though it’s not especially comfortable to be two people’s pillow at once, Laurel doesn’t try to dislodge either of them. This is perhaps the one thing she can do for Ollie, now. Keep the other people he loves safe, comforted.

“Hey,” She nudges Felicity, gently, because Felicity is still on the verge of tears and Laurel would really like her not to be. She decides to do what Sara used to do when she was upset, and start the most inappropriate conversation possible given the circumstances. “When Oliver - Did he do that thing? With his tongue? You know, the – ”

“What?” Felicity looks momentarily bemused, and then, “oh –  _oh_. Um.” Her mouth quirks. “I guess.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You – “

“Mm.”

“- taught him to - “

“Oh yeah.”

Felicity goes brilliant pink, all over, her mouth hanging open. It’s sort of endearing. And she’s stopped crying.

“Oh,” Thea cottons on, abruptly, “gross, guys, I’m right here.”

Felicity takes a breath and then starts giggling, hysterically, clamping one hand over her mouth. “Oh my god.”

“That boy needed some serious coaching back in the day, that’s all I’m saying.” Laurel grins at her, gives her another nudge.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Felicity manages again and then topples over, helplessly, and Laurel laughs, because it feels good – it’s dumb, it’s ridiculous, but it feels good to let something out, like a breath she’s been holding, watching Felicity giggling like a highschooler and Thea screwing up her face in horror. Felicity manages to gather enough breath to form a coherent sequence: “You know who I miss right now?”

“Sara would think this was hysterical.” Laurel bites her lip.

“Sara would be demanding her share of the credit.”

“Credit for what?” Nyssa sets another shot glass of espresso in front of Laurel and sits down with her own.

“Long story.”

“They’ve all had sex with my brother,” Thea covers her face with her hands, her voice pained. “Felicity and Laurel and Sara. All of them. They’ve all seen him naked and I wouldn’t mind but now they’re talking about it.”

“We’re not talking about it.”

“Well I’d like you to stop not talking about it now.”

“Okay,” Laurel pets her, gently.

“Sorry, Thea.” Felicity peers round Laurel at her.

Thea waves her off, tucking herself back under Laurel’s chin.

“You are the women beloved to Oliver Queen,” Nyssa surveys the three of them, “poor souls.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t recommend it as a lifestyle choice,” Felicity mutters, into Laurel’s shoulder – and Laurel can’t disagree.


End file.
